Lucky for Some
by ReaperRain
Summary: For what he is, he's done pretty well for himself. Seridur/Valen Dreth and Seridur/Cylben Dolovas. Contains smut and spoilers for the sidequest Order of the Virtuous Blood. Sequel to Luck, or Lack Thereof
1. Part One

If you haven't already, I would suggest reading the story's sequel _Luck, or Lack Thereof_, which details the first meeting between Valen and Seridur. This story continues their odd arrangement – 'relationship' would be too generous a term, I think – through Seridur's POV, as well as introducing a new pairing that might actually be canon: Seridur with his bodyguard/servant, Cylben. Read part two if you're interested in that particular pairing.

**Warnings:** Again, this is smut, albeit consensual this time.

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Lucky for Some – part one

He was, arguably, the luckiest vampire in existence.

But then, he wasn't a great believer in luck. It was in the _tactics_, really; staying in a crowded, heavily-guarded city seemed like an astonishingly bad idea, but it was such an inconvenient place for an undead creature to be that he was able to live quite safely. Being the leader of an anti-vampire organisation helped too, of course. He'd garnered a bit of respect in the community, acquired a few stupid followers to sing his praises, and hey presto, no-one suspected a thing. Not even his housekeeper-slash-bodyguard, though he'd chosen Cylben quite deliberately for his utter lack of nosiness. And his devotion, since he'd been quite taken with Seridur since their first meeting, which made for a good servant.

Oh, and his blood too, of course.

Unfortunately, that wasn't to be indulged in very often. Cylben was a light sleeper, entailing a drop or two of calming potion in his drink if Seridur didn't want him to wake mid-feed. He normally made do with the pretty, helpless maidens so frequently wandering the city at night...almost asking to be preyed on, really. Cylben aside, he had up until recently preferred women, but now the appeal of other men was starting to grow on him. Or perhaps it was just one man in particular. One _mer_ in particular, to be pedantic about it.

Now this was where the 'luckiest vampire' thing came into play. He already had it made, but precious few of his kind could claim a regular and risk-free source. Though he supposed it was rather tragic, it was also enormously convenient that no-one cared about a sneering, foul-mouthed Dunmer with eleven years of prison to his name. Apart from him, apparently, which was why the Imperial jailer always let him in for visitation without a second thought, no hesitation and no questions asked.

Quite the lap of luxury.

And approaching Dreth had other..._advantages_ as well. He'd only ever drank from Cylben as he slept; while the housekeeper never questioned Seridur's great aversion to fire and fondness for evenings, his most likely reaction to his master's vampirism would be...unfavourable. Whereas Dreth not only _knew_, but-

Well.

_Enjoyed_ it.

With a nod of greeting to the prison guard as he passed by, Seridur descended into the Imperial jail. It was damp this time of year, the perfect breeding grounds for disease – and sure enough, he could hear coughing from the only occupied cell in this part of the prison.

"Valen," he called out when he reached the cell, fingertips trailing against the metal bars, "You're not too ill for a visit, are you?"

"Of course n-" an argument made completely redundant when he broke into a sore-sounding fit of coughs. "Of course not," he repeated anyway, and hidden by the safe shadows of his cell, pulled himself upright from the floor, leaning heavily against the wall.

He had forgotten, perhaps... "You know, vampires can see quite well in the dark."

He laughed softly when Valen bristled, realising he couldn't hide anything from the likes of Seridur. With a displeased scowl, the Dunmer spat out, "Fine, I'm ill. Why, does that make me too dirty for your majesty's consumption?"

"Of course not. I have no reason to worry." Being an Altmer crossed with a vampire made him immune to any and all disease, after all. "I just don't want you to break into a coughing fit in the middle of it all. Spoils the moment."

"Because tearing my neck open and drinking my bodily fluids is _so_ romantic."

"When you put it that way..." Seridur murmured, bending down to pick the lock. Dreth had never tried to sugar-coat or glamorise the arrangement between them – pure lust, for blood and for flesh, respectively. It was refreshing, really, to find someone who stated things for what they were, as opposed to a string of carefully, chosen euphemisms. Perhaps that was why he kept returning to this dank little prison cell, even with all the fresher prey walking about outside.

"Did you bring me a present?" Valen asked as the Altmer approached, allowing the cell door to swing shut behind him.

"But of course," Seridur answered with a charming smile, and produced a small bottle from within his doublet, "Potion of Cure Disease. Just the one, they don't come cheap."

He had to wonder if the Dark Elf had even _seen_ a cure-all potion before, the way he was looking at it. A mix of wonderment and greed, as though he were gazing upon liquid gold. It _was_, essentially. "Are you going to drink it or sell it?"

"...Drink it, probably," though he looked tempted by the latter option; he had, after all, lived in enforced poverty for the last eleven years of his life, and the thought of actually having money was undoubtedly more appealing than the thought of good health. "I'm not allowed things like this. The guards will confiscate it before long."

"Hide it away, then," he watched the Dunmer strategically tuck the bottle away in a corner, "Now then...shall we?"

"We shall," Valen echoed with mock-elocution, stepping forwards and tilting his head to one side to expose the bare, ashen-blue expanse of his neck. And Seridur, quite literally, helped himself.

Funny how his palette had developed. In the beginning, blood was blood – it didn't matter who or where it was from, it was simply sustenance. Over time, he had distinguished a particular taste unique to each race. From there, social class had played its part, from the thick, over-sweet blood of the wasteful nobility to the water-thin vitae of the homeless. And by now, he could even associate a person with their own individual flavour.

The difference between Cylben and Valen, for example, was much akin to fine wine. One was unmistakably _new_, brimming with youth and vigour; the other was aged but arguably more flavoursome, rich like old spice and decidedly addictive. He enjoyed both equally – perhaps he had a preference for Dunmers – though he wished he could take from Cylben as freely as he did from Valen. The prisoner was just the right combination of angry, sexually frustrated, greedy and depraved enough to allow a vampire to frequently use him. The question was, was Dreth paying _him_ with blood, for the sex and occasional gifts? ...Or was he paying _Dreth_ with sex and gifts, in exchange for his blood?

When the heartbeat began to slow, he pulled back – sadly, Valen was not in the best physical condition, and care had to be taken. The Dark Elf flopped bonelessly against him, though he could feel a distinct hardness somewhere around his thigh, given the height differences between them. He laughed silkily, sweeping Dreth up into his arms – and Dreth struggled as he always did, still not terribly pleased at being lifted so easily, still not realising that his reaction was half the reason Seridur kept doing it. And he placed the other down on that rather pitiful thing Valen called a bedroll, casually unlacing the prisoner's sack-cloth pants.

The first time he'd done this, Valen had been quite surprised and perhaps a little mortified, though he had quickly changed his mind. Now he no longer kicked up a fuss, simply murmured a sleepy "No teeth," before allowing Seridur to continue.

Continue he did, willing lips on hard flesh, kissing, licking, base to tip. He'd always preferred _receiving_ blowjobs to giving them, but it was fair payment for the still-warm blood working its way through his veins. Dreth squirmed and shivered beneath him, panting heavily and with just a slight wheeze in his breath from his still-present illness. At least with the cure-all potion, that would be cleared come Seridur's next visit.

After teasing him awhile – and Valen was already close to finishing, bless him – the Altmer finally opened his mouth and, smirking at Dreth's strangled gasp, slid slowly down. Then up, then down, then up again, and established a steady rhythm that was just fast enough to prevent any impatient 'Get on with it!' remarks, and yet just low enough to keep Dreth thrashing in desperation for more.

He had, however, noticed a recurring trend in the Dunmer's behaviour, which he was doing even now: holding back. He could see it in the tension of his muscles – if they could be called that, withered by time as they were – the trembling of his legs, and the twitching of his fingers. Valen did this every visit; at first he had been puzzled, since the prisoner's main reason for agreeing to their exchange was the sexual fulfilment. Now, though, he had come to understand.

He didn't want it to end.

It was quite sad, really. He had to continuously remind himself that Dreth had _nothing_, even the clothes on his back had been issued by the prison. His home was a damp, lice-ridden cell and his bed was a scrap of cloth that was every bit as uncomfortable as the floor. So it had been for eleven years.

So to have this...even without the gifts, to have the visitation and _presence_ of someone from the outside world...it was no surprise that he clung to it. His only other physical contact came from the guards, in the form of fists and feet to match the sneered insults. Of course, Dreth gave as good as he got, and he might have escaped such brutality if he had just kept his mouth shut, but even so. He was aware, from the rumours he'd heard to the occasional dark, ugly bruise he spotted on Valen, to know just what he was subjected to. It didn't weigh _terribly_ on him, since drinking blood did wonders for eliminating the conscience, but he was aware of what this meant to Valen. Not romance, or tenderness, or kinship, but _liberty_ from his otherwise miserable life.

Why, who knew that giving a blowjob could be such a good deed? So he waited for the sharp, choking gasp, pulled back and to the side just in time; he was certainly _not_ going to swallow it, that was entirely too unbecoming. And when Valen finally stopped writhing in the throes of pleasure, he sat up, flashing his most sultry and self-assured smile.

"So, did you enjoy yourself, hm?"

Valen tried to glare but failed, and instead settled for looking tired. His breathing was still laboured, so Seridur leaned over and murmured, "Remember to take that potion," into the other mer's ear before getting to his feet. After dusting himself off, he exited the cell door, making sure to lock it again – couldn't have his prisoner running away. He would have uttered a farewell, but Dreth appeared to have already fallen asleep.

Well, hopefully he wouldn't forget about the potion, Seridur mused as he strolled back to the prison's entrance. He _did_ prefer Dreth without the hacking cough, and the cure-all would fix that up nicely.

And if it happened to have an aphrodisiac or two mixed in there...well, if it kept his prisoner pining, all the better for him.

Luck, after all, was in the _tactics_.

* * *

Part two for a direct continuation – Seridur returns home to his bodyguard/servant, Cylben.


	2. Part Two

I find it strange that Seridur keeps Cylben around as a bodyguard and yet never asks him to actually do any fighting for him; I think we can safely assume that he uses Cylben as a free blood supply. But Cylben isn't in on this arrangement, given he claims he has no idea Seridur was a vampire after the end of the Virtuous Blood quest. It seems plausible that he'd be staying with Seridur because he was...seduced, so to speak.

**Warnings:** Dub-con smut, since Cylben isn't really aware of Seridur's true nature.

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Lucky For Some – part two

Upon leaving the Imperial City prison, the first thing Seridur did was look up. The stars were out, the moons were aglow, and the night, as they say, was young.

He went first for a stroll about the Market District and got talking to a pretty, rosy-cheeked young thing. Five minutes into the conversation, and she was so enraptured by him that he could have quite easily convinced her to follow him down that dark, hidden and definitely not at all threatening alleyway nearby. But having already seen Dreth, and feeling on the generous side tonight, he let her go with no more than a courteous goodbye. He would, however, have to keep her in mind – she would be easy prey in future, if the need arose.

He hummed a tune as he moved onto the Arena, caught the eye of a rather attractive Bosmer, but made no talk beyond passing pleasantries. From there he traversed the Arboretum, espied the faint blush on a nearby lady – ah, the pains of being attractive and well-dressed – and was sure to deliberately brush against her as he passed with a silken murmur of "Excuse me." He didn't need to see her face to hear her quickened heartbeat; tempting, but he had already eaten once tonight, and it simply didn't do to be gluttonous.

And so after a long and rather eventful night, when that insistent little sixth sense he'd acquired since his undeath told him the sun would be up soon, he began the walk back home. He _could_ go out in the sun, of course, given how regularly he fed; but even if it didn't burn his skin, it still hurt his over-sensitive eyes, which made the daylight glaringly intense.

Cylben was, as per usual, waiting for him when he got home. He sometimes wondered how the boy could stay awake, since he spent all day tending to the house or running errands, and all night waiting worriedly for Seridur, with only a few hours rest in between. But Cylben seemed as alert as ever, immediately rising from his chair as Seridur entered and standing ruler-straight, like a soldier awaiting orders.

"Sorry I'm late," Seridur smiled, completely at odds with Cylben's stiff formality, "I wandered out to Memorial Cave, spent a bit longer there than I had intended. The place is crawling with undead."

The Dunmer's eyes widened; "I thought you cleared the place already?"

"I did, but more have come. They're never-ending, it seems...still, we must persist in our fight against them," he sighed and glanced down at his shoes, still water-darkened from the damp prison cell, "My shoes are dirty as well. Filthy down there, truly."

Cylben was quick to attend. "I'll have them washed for you," he said, "I'm surprised you went down there in those clothes. You didn't have any armour at all?"

"Heavens, no. I'm not nearly strong enough to carry all that weight," he gave a teasing but warm smile, "Besides, a gentleman should look his best at all times, don't you agree?"

"Oh, well, of course," spoke the Dunmer, glancing away, then down at his own tough-but-brutish set of Orcish armour. Seridur watched with barely-concealed amusement as he dusted off a gauntlet in a sudden bout of self-consciousness. Really, the boy was so _impressionable_.

"That armour..."

Cylben looked up; "Master?"

"It's a tad unsightly on a slim frame such as yours," Seridur murmured, approaching the Dunmer, who had an expression akin to a deer caught in a light spell, "Perhaps we should buy an Ebony set for you, hm?"

"Ebony?" Cylben repeated in disbelief, "But that would cost thousands-"

"Money is of no issue," the High Elf dismissed casually, "And you should have the best armour available. You're at the forefront of the Order of the Virtuous Blood, after all."

"But I-" he stopped, looked down at his feet, and after a moment's silence, said quietly: "I spend more time washing dishes than I do fighting vampires."

Ah, he detected a note of insecurity. Officially, Cylben was employed as Seridur's bodyguard, and he dressed the part. But Seridur never asked to be escorted anywhere – because he wasn't actually doing anything dangerous, but Cylben didn't know that. He supposed it would damage the confidence, doing mundane chores whilst dressed as if for battle; especially if the one you had been employed to protect was – as far as Cylben knew – fighting off hoards of vampires in only a nobleman's ensemble.

"I know I don't send you vampire-hunting as often as you'd like," he answered in that soft, faintly saddened tone he'd perfected over the years, "But I daren't order you to such a wretched place as Memorial Cave, in case you – in case you don't come back," his voice dropped to a quiet, almost non-existent murmur as his gaze dragged past slightly-parted lips, lilac-tinged cheeks and wide red eyes, "You're so very dear to me, Cylben. You know that."

He could, as with the woman earlier, hear the younger mer's heartbeat fluttering underneath that delicious pale blue skin; could feel it in the air, almost _taste_ it. And Cylben, he knew, tasted so very, very good. Enough to re-awaken that thirst he'd quenched earlier with Valen, to make his veins and his throat and his teeth ache for more.

"You won't be needing that armour anymore," he whispered breathlessly, "I'll buy you a new set tomorrow morning."

And, almost as though hypnotised, Cylben slowly reached up and undid the fastenings on his cuirass, never once breaking the eye-contact between them. _Thud, thud_ as two heavy shoulder-guards hit the floor. The faulds were next to go, revealing slender hips and thighs encased in Orcish greaves. What was left of the cuirass was discarded, and even though he had a shirt beneath, Cylben seemed so much more _naked_ than he had been before.

Gods, he wanted him. It was verging on painful.

"Do you..." Seridur leaned in so close they were almost touching, relishing the every drum of that young, strong heart, "Do you want to go upstairs?"

Cylben gave a soundless nod – and with that, consented to everything, even if he didn't know it. Seridur took his gauntlet-clad hand and led him up the stairs, glancing back every so often with the glimmer of promise in his eyes, but unbeknown to the young Elf, Seridur planned to get so much more out of this than just sex.

The bedroom they shared had, up until now, been a place only for sleep. Seridur had never brought any woman back to his home on account of Cylben; he didn't normally get as far as bedding them anyway, since that wasn't his top priority. And Cylben had no mistress – actually, he was quite certain the Dunmer was only interested in _him_. He'd known of that attraction almost as soon as he'd met him, adept as he was at reading body language. But he had never truly exploited it until now – perhaps _encouraged_ it over the years with his smiles and his touches that lingered just a little too long. But he'd never taken it this far.

He touched the bed first, pulling Cylben down on top of him so they both ended up sprawled on the fine silk sheets. What followed was an odd, frantic period in which Seridur attempted to remove Cylben's clothes while Cylben tried to remove _his_. The Dunmer's hands were trembling terribly, his arms and his shoulders, even his breaths were shaky, nervous.

He would've liked to soothe him. That was, after all, what a gentleman did, not only for the sake of common courtesy but because a considerate lover was less likely to be accused of being a predator. But his mind and his thoughts and his overpowering lust raced too fast to slow down, to take things gently. So he stripped off Cylben's shirt with hands made steady from years of practise, unfastened his gauntlets and greaves as the younger Elf hastily kicked off his boots, because neither of them had time to stop.

Smooth, naked skin, pale blue in colour, lightly dusted with purple. He'd always liked the colour blue, the elegance of it – and as a close second, red, the colour of blood and life, of the wide, wonder-filled eyes that stared directly at him.

"You're so calm," the mer mumbled, adoration written over his face, as it had been when they first met. Cylben, he knew, was one of those untrusting, socially awkward people that preferred their own company to that of anyone else – not necessarily unusual for a Dark Elf. But Seridur had had him entranced from day one; hell, half the reason he'd even _approached_ the silent, stern-looking Dunmer sat in the corner of that tavern was to prove to himself that he could charm anyone, at any time. He hadn't intended to get a servant out of it.

"Yes, well," he answered, running his hands up the younger's arms and only just able to restrain himself, "Experience comes with age."

Cylben frowned, "You can't be that much older than me, surely."

"Altmer age a little better than Dunmer." Never mind that he hadn't aged a day in – what, a hundred years now? Any further questions Cylben might have had were silenced with kisses – neck to shoulder, down his arm, on each of his fingertips. Cylben shivered, fumbled with Seridur's silk-and-velvet clothing and trailed over each new inch of golden skin as though he had never touched anything more precious.

"Cylben," he spoke in a low, lusty murmur, discarding the last scrap of cloth to the floor so that they were as bare as each other, "Move closer to me."

"But-" a sharp inhalation as they were pressed together, but- "I thought you were going to...you know..."

"Go inside?" he suppressed a smirk at the other's flustered, prudish nod, "It's possible, but painful without the correct preparations. And I don't believe either of us has the patience for that right now."

"I don't care of it hurts-"

"You will. Don't fret...there are other ways of going about this." Much as he wanted to be inside that lovely, lithe body, the consequences wouldn't be worth it. Cylben needed to be relaxed and satiated enough to – hopefully – pass out if Seridur was going to drink tonight, and that wouldn't happen if he was in pain.

Instead he purred a "Let me show you," and thrust _up_, the two of them shuddering at the resulting contact. It felt so good it almost hurt, a spike of heat rippling through them both. He was undead, but he could feel pleasure as well as any living being – perhaps, if he had succumbed to his vampirism, it would have been different, because sex was a thing of _life_ and most undead lost interest in such matters. But he was as alive as a dead thing could be, grinding with raw lust against a young, beautiful and willing lover. Cylben moaned and moved like fluid under his hands, heartbeat pulsing through every inch of his pretty skin, eyes glazed over with bliss.

And suddenly it was too much. The hunger surged, teeth shaping and sharpening in his mouth despite the frantic mental protests that he was supposed to wait until Cylben was asleep, but he didn't think he could restrain himself for that long. And with that final friction, Cylben cried out, throwing his head back to expose his neck, and-

He couldn't hold back.

He _didn't_ hold back.

He drove forwards, unrestrained, and sank his teeth into the soft, supple throat. Blood, thick and warm and _glorious_ spilled into his mouth, so much that the excess ran down his chin and dripped onto his collarbone. The Dunmer's heartbeat sang through him like euphoria, and remained at a healthy pace for a luxurious amount of time – unlike Valen who drained so quickly that he had to extract himself before he could really appreciate the sensation of it. But here he basked in the perfection, and once the pulse began to steadily decline, he took a leisurely amount of time to pull back.

"Cylben?" he murmured. The Elf did not reply, but rested unresponsive against him, shoulders slowly rising and falling with each breath. Unconscious. He'd probably passed out before Seridur had even bit him, or been so lost in delirious passion that he hadn't noticed. Either way, his secret was safe.

Smiling silkily, Seridur lay him down on the bed. As always, the bite mark had already started healing, though the extra blood remained; he leaned over and trailed his tongue up Cylben's neck, evoking an involuntary shiver even as the boy slept. With a low, amused laugh, he settled down beside him, wiping the last of the red from his mouth and chin. He could still taste it, succulent and sweet.

Good sex, a good meal, and now a good sleep. What a _marvellous_ evening it had been.

* * *

Thus concludes the Seridur/Valen Dreth/Cylben Dolovas stories. Hope you enjoyed!


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